


5 Times Sansa Was Proposed To...

by nachocheese26



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Slow Romance, Tyrion is a mess, but Sansa likes him that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachocheese26/pseuds/nachocheese26
Summary: and the 1 time she did the proposing





	5 Times Sansa Was Proposed To...

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for this fandom! I have only ever watched the show, but have done some light research so some book characters are mentioned. But am I an expert? No.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this little fic!

1.

Tonight they would have a celebration. The biggest one out of the whole year. The one-year anniversary of the North claiming its independence and the crowning of Sansa Stark as Queen.

And Sansa finally understood why her mother hated it when feasts and celebrations rolled around. Especially when King Robert came and Sansa couldn’t understand because she was so excited to meet the Prince Joffery and she hoped it would be love at first sight and she wishes she could go back and tell her younger self to go play with Arya instead. But things were different now and King Bran was coming and surely that meant things would be easier this time.

“Your grace, several crows managed to fly into the kitchen and now there’s feathers everywhere,”

“Your grace, the wagon carrying in extra firewood is stuck in the mud,”

“Your grace, the grand chandelier is short forty candle sticks and it’s obvious,”

“Your grace…”

“Your grace…”

“Your grace…”

Sansa should’ve asked Arya to teach her to throw daggers because the next person to come up to her and say ‘Your grace, this has gone wrong,’ should deserve a dagger thrown right at their tongue.

But King Bran’s carriage was here and everything else could wait. It was time to welcome her brother.

Ser Podrick was in front, riding with obvious pride and when he saw Sansa, his eyes lit up with joy, but he gave a small nod of respect. And when his horse stopped, the whole company stopped, allowing Bran’s carriage door to be directly in front of Sansa.

Podrick dismounted from his horse, bowed before Sansa, then went to open the carriage door.

“Your grace-“

“Not now!” Sansa hissed, not even turning to look at whoever would be stupid enough to come to her right now.

“But Your grace, an important raven has arrived-“

Sansa still didn’t glance at whoever it was, but took the tiny note and stuffed it into the folds of her sleeve.

And the carriage door opened and someone who obviously was not Bran stepped out.

“Your grace, it is such a pleasure to see you again,”

Tyrion Lannister approached Sansa and bowed.

“…but I can tell it isn’t as much a pleasure for you, is it?”

Sansa gently shook her head free of her surprised expression. “Lord Tyrion, I, um…was not expecting you,” she tried not to look over him to see if Bran was coming out of a different carriage. “But you are always welcome here in the North and at Winterfell,”

“Yes, thank you. I sent a raven actually, just before we were set to travel. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, King Bran was unable to come. The day before he was set to travel, he fell ill. So I’ve come in his place. But don’t worry! I did receive a raven three weeks into the journey that he is again at full health,”

Sansa tilted her head slightly. “I never received a raven from you,”

“Oh,” Tyrion tapped his fingers against his leg. A nervous habit of his Sansa picked up on back during her time at King’s Landing. “Well I assure you, your grace, I did send one,”

“Sansa,”

Tyrion paused, then smiled. “Sansa,”

“Come, I’ll show you to your room so you can rest before the feast tonight,”

Sansa turned and Tyrion followed after her. And just like their many walks in the gardens at Kings Landing a lifetime ago, Sansa slowed her pace so Tyrion could walk comfortably next to her.

It was a silent walk and after a moment, Tyrion looked up at Sansa to say something. But he noticed a distant look in her eyes and a slight puffiness under her eyes. Preparing for a feast was exhausting work and she was expecting her brother to come instead of his hand. Perhaps she only wanted a moment of peace and this was the only way she could get it. By walking her guest to his room.

So Tyrion stayed silent up until they went inside castle.

Once at his chosen room, Sansa opened the door and began explaining that this was Bran’s old room and she thought he would enjoy it. It was one of the finest rooms in the castle and if Tyrion needed anything else-

“Sansa, I believe you dropped something,” Tyrion said, seeing a small scroll fall out of her sleeve. He reached down and picked it up. The seal was still unbroken. A gold seal from the Isle of Dorne.

And if he remembered correctly, gold seals were for very important and very specific ravens.

“Oh, thank you,” Sansa said, taking it from him. And for a moment, it looked like she was about to continue explaining all the wonderful things about the room, but she faltered. She hadn’t noticed the gold seal.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “A marriage proposal from Dorne could be advantageous. As queen, you would have claim to the Isle of Dorne instead of the Dornish claiming the North. And they have wonderful wine,”

Sansa stared down at the gold seal then looked to Tyrion. And it was the first time she truly looked at him since he arrived. He looked exhausted, but that was from the journey. It wasn’t the same kind of exhaustion in his face the last time she saw him. Back when he stood trial before the lords and ladies for treason against Queen Daenerys.

But there was something else in his eyes too. Was it sadness? Loneliness?

And now on one of the most busiest days she’s had since becoming Queen in the North, with a feast to prepare, emergencies to attend to, disappointment at her brother not coming, and surprise at her once Lord Husband coming, a marriage proposal from Dorne arrived.

She looked back to the gold seal and knew there would be beautiful words and talk of ‘uniting our lands and people.’ And Sansa crumpled the small scroll in her fist without even opening it.

“Sansa-?”

“For a year, I have ruled the North without any major issues. The lords and ladies respect me and do not question my authority because I am a woman. If I ever marry again, it will not be for political or diplomatic reasons,”

For a brief moment Tyrion recalled their conversation over a year ago in the crypts of Winterfell. They should’ve stayed married. But it wasn’t a marriage of love. And that was the least Sansa deserved. Even after all this time.

He smiled softly with just a hint of sadness. “A wise decision,” he said. He cleared his throat. “But it seems like you could do with some wine to make it through the rest of this evening,”

Sansa smiled. “And I’m assuming you’ll be joining me?”

Tyrion smirked. “I would be a terrible guest if I left you to drink alone before a big feast!”

* * *

 2.

The day before Tyrion was set to return to King’s Landing, Sansa announced that she would be joining him. There was a trade agreement being refined by the two councils and would soon require her signature and Bran’s. Her council had already done their part, now it was with Bran's council and Tyrion said it should be ready by the time they arrived at King's Landing.

Tyrion was glad, considering his only traveling companion was Podrick and drinking games were no fun with him anymore because Tyrion already knew everything about his life and the boy took his role as King's guard very seriously.

But Sansa was different. There was still so much he did not know about her and despite the hard exterior she generally showed as queen, he knew he could convince her to play at least one game with him.

And her ability to drink had grown every day since their wedding.

Tyrion just hadn’t known to what extent and now she kept up with him easily.

Sansa peeked at him from over the rim of her mug. The hood covering her hair brought a shadow over her face, but he could still see a playful glint in her eyes. They were incognito at a tavern, much to the despair of Ser Podrick and Sansa’s Queens guards.

Podrick was with them, out of his armor and sulking next to Tyrion. He had only half a mug of ale. Sansa and Tyrion were both close to finishing their third.

“The first needlework you ever finished on your own was of some knight on a horse or holding some rose,” Tyrion said, his words slurring just a little.

Sansa smiled and shook her head. “Drink,”

Tyrion drank without arguing. “What was it then?”

“A wolf,” Pod threw in. He wasn’t sulking enough to not participate at all.

Sansa took a small sip. “Two wolves actually. Signifying my parents,” she still smiled, but there was a distant look in her eyes. But then she took another drink and said, “My turn,”

Tyrion waited expectantly, grinning as she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in deep, drunken thought.

“Your story of bringing a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel is completely false,”

Tyrion sputtered. “What? Why would you-“

“Is it true?”

Tyrion frowned before mumbling no and taking a drink.

Sansa giggled. She actually giggled. Tyrion didn’t think he ever heard her giggle. He liked the way it way sounded. He wanted to hear that more.

Then he noticed Pod smirking into his own mug and knew there was a traitor in their midst. “You told her that, didn’t you?” he accused, shoving the oh-so-honorable knight.

Pod’s ale sloshed a little from Tyrion’s shove and he laughed. “You never said not to tell anyone,”

“I don’t like this game anymore. Let’s play another,”

“That’s only because you’re losing and you hate losing,” Sansa shot back.

Tyrion took a drink. “Was that statement part of the game?”

Before Sansa could answer, there was a clattering from the other end of the room. The three turned to look, Pod reaching for his sword.

But it was only a drunk man climbing to the top of a table. “I promise you and you and everyone here that I’ll marry every single woman in this room!” he announced loudly.

A rowdy cheer followed from the men around him.

The man jumped off the table, stumbling for a few moments, before sauntering up to the tavern maid. “You! I’ll marry you! We can go out to the Godswood right now,”

The maid rolled her eyes. “You’ve already got a wife waiting for you at home,”

“Can’t a man have more?”

She shook her head and moved past him to attend to other customers.

They continued watching the man, Tyrion and Sansa openly giggling while Pod only managed a smile, relaxing his hand away from his sword. He went up to every woman in the tavern, asking for their hand in marriage. The rejections didn’t seem to deter him though and soon enough the only woman left was Sansa.

“Oh gods, I hope he doesn’t come over here,” Sansa muttered as she quickly looked away to avoid eye contact.

Tyrion snorted, taking another sip. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Here he comes,”

Pod’s hand went straight for his sword again and Tyrion tsked. “Please, he’s more drunk than we are-“

“I am not drunk. Queens do not get drunk,” Sansa countered with her words slurred.

“He’s harmless,” Tyrion finished.

Pod still kept his hand on his sword as the drunk came up to them.

“Ah, my lady!” he said, stumbling down to one knee. “You gorgeous woman! Be my wife! You’ll give me ten sons and I’ll give you an amazing life!”

Sansa gave him a gracious smile and leaned forward slightly, allowing her hood to shadow even more of her face. “As wonderful as that sounds, I believe I already have an amazing life,” 

“What could be more amazing than wedding me?” he grinned, showing his crooked teeth.

“Being a queen,”

The man blinked. Then stood, howling with laughter. “Aye! That does sound like an amazing life!” he gave a mock bow, lost his balance for a moment, then straightened and walked back to the group of cheering men.

Pod stood up. “Your grace, lord hand, please, let’s go. I am ready to go,”

“Well, Sansa, looks like we’ve placed an unfair amount of stress on poor Ser Podrick while we have been enjoying our time,”

The two snickered and Pod rolled his eyes.

* * *

3.

Somehow, the trade agreement Sansa came to sign was not yet ready for her signature a month into her stay at Kings Landing.

When they arrived and Tyrion looked at the document, it was all wrong somehow. A trade agreement Westeros and the North had been drafting for several months was all wrong. And even though Davos and Bronn finally agreed on what Westeros would offer was a feat in itself, Tyrion still insisted it was wrong.

Sansa’s time there wasn’t a complete waste. She was able to talk with her brother, understanding he was not the same brother she grew up with. But considering they were both rulers, they had more in common. Even if Bran would still say cryptic phrases.

Ser Brienne took Sansa all over the city, showing her the new developments and explaining how the King's guard specifically was working on rebuilding Flea Bottom and helping the surviving residents there.

And Sansa did enjoy herself, but there were times when she would walk through the gardens or one of the many hallways of the New Red Keep and old memories and phantom footsteps of people long gone came to haunt her.

She was ready to go home. Back to the North. Back to Winterfell.

A month into her stay, she was walking through the gardens alone, telling her Queen's guard no harm would come to her here. Not anymore. She was reading a message from her Hand, that she had recently received an invitation from Lord Robin Arryn to visit him at the Vale at her earliest convenience.

Sansa would have to stop there on her way back home. Whenever that would be...

She looked up from the note and saw Tyrion walking towards her with a satisfied smile on his face. Even though he was still far off, he stopped to give her a bow, then continued walking towards her.

Sansa smiled, hoping he was coming to tell her the agreement was ready for her to sign.

Before she could pick up her pace to reach him, a voice at her side stopped her.

“Your grace,”

Sansa jumped a little, not hearing anyone come up beside her. She stopped to look who it was and recognized him.

Ser Horas Redwyne. 

It had been ages since she last saw him. Back when this place that she now roamed freely was her prison. She swallowed hard and gave him a small nod. “Ser Horas,”

He straightened from his bow, and from behind his back, pulled out a white rose. “I saw this and thought you might like it,”

Sansa took the offered rose, glancing back to Tyrion. He had stopped and seemed to have taken an interest in a shrub. But she knew the man and knew he was stalling so as not to interrupt them.

She wished he would interrupt whatever this was. Because she never had an actual conversation with Ser Horas. She barely even shared a passing word with him.

“Thank you, Ser Horas. It is very beautiful,” She replied politely, praying to the gods he wasn’t about to ask her what she thought he was.

Ser Horas smiled, brushing back some of his orange locks out of his eyes. “You have become even more beautiful since I last saw you, Lady Sansa. May I call you Lady Sansa?”

“You may call me Queen Sansa,” she responded without a smile.

Ser Horas swallowed hard. At least he wasn’t oblivious, but he was still a man. He was still going to press forward with his original plan.

“It is my understanding that the North is lacking in a strong fleet,”

“We have Bear Island,” Sansa interrupted.

Ser Horas snickered. “They have at most ten ships, my lady,”

“Your grace,” Sansa corrected.

“Yes, of course, I meant…your grace,” Ser Horas was finally displaying signs of regret. But it wasn’t enough to deter him. “The North could use a powerful fleet. As Lord of the Arbor, I offer you complete authority over our fleet…in exchange for your hand in marriage,” he said, lowering himself to one knee and offering his hand for Sansa to hold.

Sansa held back a weary sigh. This poor man was about to suffer humiliation. She looked back to Tyrion who had moved only a little bit closer, close enough to overhear their conversation. But he was still not looking at them, instead observing a flower now and trying to hide a smirk.

Instead of taking his hand, she placed the rose he gave her back in his hand. “Ser Horas, I decline your offer of marriage. I’m sure there’s some other lovely young lady who would gladly take your hand,”

Sansa didn’t wait for him to stand up again. She turned and began walking toward Tyrion’s direction.

“Oh, Queen Sansa! I didn’t see you coming,” Tyrion cheekily stated, looking up at her with mischief.

Sansa rolled her eyes and continued walking, knowing Tyrion would join her. “Have I mentioned before that I am ready to return home?”

“Yes. Yes, you have. Multiple times,” Tyrion responded, pursing his lips. “At least you let him down gently,”

Sansa laughed, shaking her head. “Why do you men insist on making fools of yourselves?”

“Only for love, my dear,”

Sansa looked down at him. It had been ages since he called her that.

Tyrion didn’t look at her, either not realizing what he had just called her or pretending not to register he called her that. “I did come looking for you for a reason,”

“Please tell me it’s about the trade agreement,”

Tyrion nodded. “It’s ready for you to sign. You can leave as early as tomorrow morning. Unless you wish to stay for a little while longer,” 

Sansa shook her head. “As much as I’ve enjoyed my time here, I am ready to go back home,”

She didn’t notice Tyrion’s face fall just slightly.

* * *

4.

Sansa read over the agreement, wondering why Tyrion had taken so long to finalize it, and signed it that evening. The next morning she left.

But as she stepped out of the castle, Tyrion was standing beside her carriage.

“Have you come to see me off?” Sansa asked, still blinking sleep out of her eyes.

Tyrion shifted from one foot to the other. “Actually, no,”

Sansa tilted her head in curiosity.

“The king has asked me to journey to the Wall, to check on things. Specifically Jon. And since I would have to pass Winterfell anyways, I decided, why not join you?”

Sansa frowned. “Why would Bran ask you to go to the wall?”

Tyrion shrugged, bringing up a hand to scratch at his beard. “I have learned a long time ago to not ask why King Bran asks us for certain things,"

Sansa smirked, knowing exactly what Tyrion was referring to. “I should let you know, I have planned a trip to the Vale first. I do not plan on being there long though,”

“The king has given me permission to take as long as I need, so that’s fine. I should like to visit the Vale again to actually enjoy the view this time,”

So it was agreed. Tyrion joined them. And Sansa had grown so fond of Tyrion’s company as of late. She didn’t understand how she went a whole year without seeing him. When they arrived at Winterfell and he would continue north for the Wall, she wasn’t sure when she would see him again.

But at least they still had time as they traveled to the Vale.

Tyrion shared stories with her about the time he was her mother’s prisoner, his stay in the sky cell, Lord ‘Sweetrobin’.

“Your cousin has definitely grown into a fine young man,” Tyrion said as they approached the gate to the Vale.

“Oh? And why do you say that?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Last time I saw him, he seemed to have grown more into that nose of his. Didn’t seem quite as bratty,”

Sansa laughed. “I’ve heard he still can’t manage to swing a sword properly,”

“Well, you can’t judge a man based on that. Besides, it’s been a long time. We’ve all changed over these past years,” Tyrion said thoughtfully.

Sansa was quiet for a moment, before saying. “Yes, you’re right. And perhaps this time he won’t demand to make the little man fly,”

Tyrion looked at her, her expression solemn except for a hint of laughter in her eyes.

And when they finally made it into the Vale, Lord Robin greeted them both kindly, albeit with slight apprehension directed at Tyrion. While he did seem to have grown out of being ‘Sweetrobin,’ he was still an odd young man, constantly stammering and stumbling over his words. And he still grew bored easily, slouching down in his chair when a meeting went too long.

It was kind of Robin to extend the invitation, taking her and Tyrion on an actual tour of the Vale and the surrounding land considering that had not happened for either of them during their separate times there. But Sansa was left wondering what the actual purpose of the invitation was.

On the eve before their departure for Winterfell, Sansa and Tyrion were outside in the courtyard, walking a few rounds and allowing their legs some extra time to stretch considering the long journey ahead of them.

And they were silent during their walk. They had nothing to say, but it was fine. Each lost in their own thoughts, Sansa wanting to get back to Winterfell quickly and praying no other marriage proposals were waiting for her and Tyrion wondering if there was anyone worthy enough to actually marry his once-wife.

If Tyrion was being honest, there was a particular thought that had been running through his mind ever since seeing Sansa reject Ser Horas’ offer of marriage.

Could he be worthy enough to marry her again?

He hated thinking about it and his words to her in the crypt. _Perhaps we should’ve stayed married._

But if they had, Sansa would not be queen and she would be at Casterly Rock instead of Winterfell. Her true home.

Besides, he was Hand of the King now. Even if he didn’t want to be.

“Sansa?” Tyrion started, unsure where his words were about to lead.

She hummed in response, glancing down at him.

But whatever words Tyrion was going say became stuck in his throat.

Perhaps that was a good thing because Lord Robin was walking towards them.

“Your grace,” Robin said, giving a quick bow. “C-could I speak with you…just for a moment?”

Tyrion nodded, stepping aside and allowing Robin to take his place next to Sansa. “Good night, Sansa. I will see you in the morning,”

As Tyrion walked away, he could hear Robin let out an agitated huff of air. “Why do you let him call you that? You’re a queen and you should demand respect,”

Tyrion turned a corner, truly meaning to go to his room to sleep. But he stood behind the wall, listening to the conversation.

“Lord Tyrion is a dear friend,” Sansa said, her tone immediately turning icy. “I have given him permission to address me as such and do not wish for my decision to be questioned,”

Another huff from Lord Robin. “Well, uh…Queen Sansa…h-have you enjoyed your stay?”

“I have. Thank you very much for opening your home to me and Lord Tyrion,”

“Uncle Petyr said we were to get married,” Robin blurted out. "And I…well, I don’t…I mean…are we still to marry?”

So this was the whole purpose behind Robin’s invitation.

“Is this a marriage proposal?”

Tyrion had to peek around the corner to look.

Robin had just shrugged while Sansa looked at him with mingled humor and shock.

“Lord Robin, what Lord Baelish said many years ago does not apply today. I do not wish to marry you and will not marry you,”

And Robin’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Oh thank gods. I mean, your grace, it would be an honor, but I just…”

Sansa gave him a bemused smile. “I understand. It’s not what you want, nor is it what I want either,”

Tyrion leaned back against the wall and let out heavy breath. What did Sansa want? He wished somehow he could give her whatever it was.

* * *

5.

Sansa never told Tyrion about the conversation she had with Robin that evening. And Tyrion didn’t mention that he already knew what had happened.

But now there was tension in the air. Sansa was restless and wanted to get back quickly. There weren’t any issues that had come up during her prolonged absence, but she had been gone too long.

Tyrion wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that she had been gone from home for so long at one point without the option of returning back to it.

And he hated the fact that he had been part of the problem during that time. Forced to marry her, a scared little girl that just wanted to go home.

She was different from that girl, but she still shared the same eagerness of returning home.

“Tyrion?”

“Hmm?” he looked up from a raven he had received. Another argument between Davos and Bronn. He didn’t plan on responding. They could work it out themselves and if not, Brienne would deal with them.

“That night before we left the Vale, you were about to tell me something,” Sansa kept her face void of emotion, even though Tyrion could see the burning curiosity in her eyes. “What was it?”

“I was…” Tyrion wasn’t even sure himself. Well, no, that wasn’t completely true. He had an idea of what he was going to say. But he didn’t want to admit it. Because Sansa was Queen of the North and he was Hand of the King of Westeros.

They were no longer the Imp and the Traitor’s Daughter.

Tyrion shook his head and smiled. “It was nothing,”

It was _everything_.

Within two weeks, they finally arrived at Winterfell. And even though there had been no pressing emergencies, there were a hundred little issues that piled up and Sansa’s appointed hand had issues with keeping the Northmen in line and they wanted to speak with their Queen and only their Queen.

For the week that Tyrion decided to stay at Winterfell, he hardly saw Sansa. He explored Winterfell, much like the first time he went. He made a point of not going into any of the brothels. They could never be the same for him again and really there was no point in trying. Instead, he explored all the ways Sansa was changing the North.

They were subtle changes, considering the Northfolk weren’t fond of change in the first place. Helping widows and orphans keep their lands, providing extra safety for those working in brothels and ensuring no children were working in them, harsher sentences for men who committed violence against women or children.

Sansa was definitely proving herself a worthy ruler and the people saw, their love for the entire Stark family growing even more.

Which made the whispers he heard among the people understandable.

Over a year into her reign and Queen Sansa Stark had not yet married. They understood she was waiting for a good and honorable man, but their whispers said what if there wasn’t such a man? What if Queen Sansa remained unmarried and never produced a Stark heir? What then would happen to the throne when she eventually passed?

Westeros had taken care of this issue. Bran couldn’t produce any heirs and from what he understood, he wasn’t even interested in that. So when he passed a new successor would be elected. But the North didn’t have this in place and he was almost certain the Northern lords would not agree to this. They had chosen a Stark to be on the throne and only a Stark could be on the throne.

Tyrion wondered if Sansa knew of this pressure coming not only from the commoners, but from the lords and ladies as well. Perhaps that was why she had recently received so many marriage proposals as soon as she had been on the throne for more than a year.

And on the day before he had to leave, Tyrion finally admitted to himself what he had almost asked Sansa that night in the Vale.

He was going to ask for her hand in marriage.

He was a fool to think she would accept him. But hadn’t she told him before that all men were fools? To which he responded they were only fools for love.

And he did love her. A love of respect, friendship, admiration, and complete and total trust.

But did she love him in this same way?

Before he left, Sansa arranged for them to have dinner together without any council members or Queen's guards or any of the lords and ladies.

Just the two of them and, gods, why was this bringing up so many memories of their time together in that sham of a marriage?

Tyrion was waiting for her, trying not to tap his fingers and show his nervousness. Why was he nervous? It wasn’t as if he was actually going to go through with asking for her hand in marriage? Why would he do such a foolish thing like that?

When she stepped through the doors to the private dining room, Tyrion felt his breath leave him. She was stunning, as always, but just like when he first came for the celebration of the anniversary of her reign, she was even more stunning because she was home and free and in a position many never imagined for her.

Except for him. He always knew she was destined for greatness.

As soon as she sat down, the servants began serving them their food and wine. Once their plates and cups full, Sansa dismissed them with an appreciative nod and a smile.

“If I haven’t told you this before, I’ll tell you now, but this queen position of yours definitely suits you,” Tyrion said as he took a sip of his wine.

Sansa smiled, a hint of a blush creeping up on her cheeks. “Thank you, Tyrion. I’m still learning and there’s so much left to learn. I just want to make sure when I’m gone, I have left the North a better place,”

“After the exploring I’ve done this week, I can tell you without a doubt that is already the case,”

Sansa poked at some of the vegetables on her plate. “But there’s still…” she trailed off, then shook her head. “No, never mind,”

“Sansa,”

She paused, refusing to met his gaze. Because the way he said her name...it frightened her. It was the same way he said it when he knew she was hiding something. And it frightened her because she trusted him.

When she finally spoke, it was a soft whisper. Tyrion had to lean forward to hear her over the crackling of the fire. “Everyone’s worried I’ll never marry,”

So. She did know of the whispered worries.

“I need an heir and I don’t think it would be enough for me to simply name someone my heir. They want a Stark on the throne. Now and always. But I…” Sansa finally looked at him and Tyrion didn’t think he ever saw her face raw with emotion. Not even down in the crypts. “I’m afraid to marry again. Because what if he’s…”

Tyrion reached over and grabbed her hand. “He will be worthy of you because you have made that decision. You are the one to decide this. Not anyone else. You can sort through all the marriage proposals and receive all the possible advice, but in the end it is your decision and only yours,”

“And if I never find someone?”

Tyrion wanted to tell her she would. Of course she would. She was still young with many years ahead of her. She would find herself a handsome lord who was good and honest and would not try and take any power from her.

But instead, he said, “Marry me,”

He regretted it immediately.

Sansa swallowed hard and pulled her hand away from his. “Tyrion…I-“

“No, no,” Tyrion cleared his throat and took a long sip of his wine. “Please, that was a, um…that was not what I intended to say,”

“But it is still what you said,”

Tyrion let out a deep breath.

“Is that what you were going to ask me that night at the Vale?”

“Yes,” Tyrion said, not daring to look at her now. “Yes, that’s what I was going to ask you,”

Sansa became very still and Tyrion chanced a look at her. Her face was masked and her eyes lowered. He had no idea what she was thinking, but he could only imagine she was disgusted. 

_You were the best of them._

But that didn’t meant he was worthy of her.

“I’m sorry, your grace. You do not have to respond to that request. It was…it was foolish,” Tyrion said with a wry smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I ride out early tomorrow morning. I should retire for the night,” the chair scraped loudly, echoing even more with the uncomfortable silence. 

Tyrion left the room, refusing to look back, even if he was disappointed she didn’t call for him to stop. She just let him leave. Silent and unmoving.

* * *

+1

Sansa hardly slept that night. How could she? Tyrion had proposed to her last night and she sat there, bringing up other subjects that, while relevant, was not an answer. She never gave Tyrion an answer. She didn’t know what kind of answer she would’ve given him had she been thinking clearly.

But when Tyrion asked her, it suddenly became stuffy in the room and the fire was too loud and her stomach began churning and had they been served bad wine?

And their words to each other in the crypts came back to her so clearly as if it were happening all over again.

_Perhaps we should’ve stayed married._

_You were the best of them._

Now the sun was breaking over the horizon and those words ran through her mind accompanied by that new statement from Tyrion.

_Marry me._

Sansa got up from her bed and moved to the window. Tyrion would be leaving and she had never given him an answer. What kind of hostess was she?

But what if he had taken her lack of an answer as a response in itself? Then that meant he took her answer as a no.

Was that really what she wanted her answer to be?

No. Well, yes. Oh, gods, she didn’t know. She still didn’t know what her answer was, but she had to tell Tyrion exactly that. She didn’t know. She had to think and consider all things and maybe if he stayed just a little while longer…

But she knew for sure she had to ask him to stay longer.

She wrapped a robe around herself as she stood in front of the window. Her window faced the main gate and when she looked outside, she saw Tyrion mounting his horse along with the King’s guard that had accompanied him.

They were leaving already.

Sansa knew it was impossible for her to run down the stairs and catch him before he left. So she stood there, clutching her robe tighter around her body and couldn’t help thinking that she had lost her chance.

Just before the two men made it past the gates, Tyrion paused and turned around. His eyes immediately found hers, despite the distance.

His face was too far to read his expression, but Sansa could see him smile and give a small bow from his horse before turning around and continuing on his way.

And now he was gone and Sansa had no idea when she would see him again. She didn’t know how long he would stay at the Wall or even if he would stop at Winterfell when coming back. Surely he had to stop, but what if he asked Jon for enough provisions to get him all the way to Moat Cailin or he went around to Hornwood, bypassing Winterfell completely?

But if he did make his way back to Winterfell, what would she tell him? Or maybe they could just pretend as if that conversation never happened and return to the easy nature of their friendship.

Sansa ignored how her heart thudded both pleasantly and unpleasantly at the thought.

Besides, she had a kingdom to rule. She could not let her mind dwell on that evening.

The people came to her with their problems and disputes. She listened and offered her solution and help and that was her favorite part of being queen. Knowing she was helping these people. And during council meetings, they spoke of the bigger disputes. Issues between different houses, border and land claims, failures with different harvests and crops.

Except the council was bringing up another issue. Sansa’s lack of a husband followed by her lack of an heir.

Every meeting it was somehow mentioned.

“Your grace, I hear the new Lord of Bear Island is very handsome,”

“Have you considered Ser Alekyne of Brightwater Keep, my queen?”

“Your grace, time eventually catches up. Your mother had already birthed you and your older brother Robb at your age,”

The fifth council meeting since Tyrion left started with Sansa threatening to imprison anyone who brought up the word marriage or heir or any other word related to that subject.

It wasn’t ever mentioned in the council again, but she still heard the whispers. And it made it hard for her to pretend that conversation with Tyrion never happened.

The more she tried putting it out of her mind, the more she thought of it. She thought of all the ways it wouldn’t work. He was Hand of the King. She was Queen of the North. He was a Lannister and while he did not hold the guilt of the crimes of his family, the Northmen still did not trust him because of his name.

Besides, they had already been married before and it didn’t work. Or course, there were many outside threats that affected their relationship and the marriage hadn’t even been consummated. But some of Sansa’s fondest memories of King’s Landing involved her time with Tyrion as her Lord Husband.

And her words to him were true. He really had been the best of them.

But was that grounds enough to accept a marriage proposal?

She thought of her mother, saying she didn’t love their father when they were first married. But she grew to love him out of respect and companionship. And Sansa always saw their marriage as one of the best examples.

When she thought of growing into a love out of respect and companionship for Tyrion, her stomach fluttered. What if they already had that?

And maybe the reason why he proposed to her was because he felt the same.

Even after coming to this conclusion though, Sansa still didn’t know what he answer would be if he ever asked her again for her hand in marriage.

Nearly three months after Tyrion left for the Wall, Sansa received a raven from Bran. When she opened it though, the message was addressed to Tyrion.

_Lord Tyrion, I am releasing you from your service as Hand to the King…_

There was more to the small message, a quick explanation, some instructions, followed by Bran’s signature. But her eyes stayed focused on that first statement.

_I am releasing you from your service as Hand to the King._

Bran couldn’t do this to Tyrion. What would he do now?

And a traitorous thought came to her mind...

He could be free to stay here. With her.

Sansa rolled the small scroll back up and began writing a reply to Bran. She told him Tyrion was not here. He had left for the Wall nearly three months ago. And to please reconsider his decision.

Halfway through the note, she was interrupted by a knock at her door.

Tyrion Lannister was here.

She quickly stood up, startling the servant who had brought her the news, and told him to let Lord Tyrion know she would attend to him momentarily.

When the door closed again, Sansa took several deep breaths. Her heart was pounding and she actually felt nervous. This was completely irrational of her. Why should she be nervous? She was Queen of the North. The Northerners obeyed her every command, making her a powerful and formidable foe.

She had no reason to be nervous.

She smoothed down her dress, picked up the raven, and walked to the Great Hall where Tyrion had most likely been brought.

A guard opened the door to the Great Hall and Sansa strode in with her head held high. “Lord Tyrion, I was not expecting to see you for some time,”

Tyrion looked up at her and she could see the exhaustion in his face. His beard and hair was unruly again.

“Your grace, back to formalities then?” he asked with a bow.

“You were the one to return to them first,” Sansa countered, taking her seat at her throne. “How was the Wall? How’s Jon?”

Tyrion chuckled, looking down. “Jon is…well, he’s not at the Wall. He’s north of the Wall and, he won’t admit it, but he’s become King of the Wildlings. I actually don't think he's even realized it, to be honest,"

Sansa looked at Tyrion, waiting for him to finish the rest of his joke. But he never did. “You’re serious?”

Tyrion nodded, biting back a smile. “Your brother, or cousin, or whatever you want to call him now, has found himself an accidental king again,”

At this, Sansa laughed.

“I will say, he’s become quite insightful. We had several good conversations,” Tyrion said, his gaze becoming more thoughtful. He cleared his throat. “Sansa, I’m sorry about out last conversation. That was extremely presumptuous of me. I placed you in an uncomfortable position and therefore, retract my previous request. I hope you can forgive me and perhaps move forward in our friendship. Besides, it would never work out between us,” he said with a soft smile. “Your Queen in the North and I’m Hand to the King of Westeros,”

Sansa pursed her lips. “A raven came in for you this morning from Bran,” she said, extending her hand with the scroll.

Tyrion blinked, not expecting that to be her reply. But he stepped forward and took it from her. He read, his eyes narrowing. Then he read it again. And a third time. And a fourth. And halfway through the fifth, he looked up at Sansa. “I…I’m not his hand anymore…” 

“Tyrion Lannister, you were presumptuous in our previous conversation and you did place me in an uncomfortable situation. But it’s in those uncomfortable situations that we are confronted with things we fear or do not want to admit,” she paused. She knew now what her answer would’ve been. But Tyrion just retracted his offer.

But Sansa was Queen of the North.

“Will you take my hand in marriage, Lord Tyrion?”

Tyrion’s mouth fell open. “…what?” he finally managed to breathe out.

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “Should I retract my offer as well?”

“No! Gods, no, I mean…” Tyrion shook his head, smiling in wonder at Sansa. “Yes, Queen Sansa. My answer is yes.”


End file.
